


Let Them Not Say

by elegantidler



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Trans Character, Double Drabble, Drabble, Gen, M/M, Meta, Queer Themes, References to Paradise Lost, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-07-19 11:09:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19973074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantidler/pseuds/elegantidler
Summary: Aziraphale's life and who he is





	1. Eden - 4004 B.C.

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically the fic version of the previously written [meta](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17937731) on Aziraphale and Crowley's identity as gay trans men. It will be a look through Aziraphale's history and experiences leading him to better understanding himself.  
> Chapters will be drabbles/double drabbles and probably slow going.  
> Work title is from [Let Them Not Say](https://poets.org/poem/let-them-not-say) by Jane Hirshfield

Aziraphale is not the first angel to have a body, nor is he the first angel to be sent to Earth.

Michael maintains a cold distance and discards the body as easily as the humans have so recently put on clothes, form dissolving to the winds, going back to their Father without hesitation.

But Raphael is different.

He sits and talks with the humans as equals.

He smiles at Adam and blushes as he talks of love and happiness.

He is the first angel to smile.

And then everything changes.

Aziraphale arrives on Earth with his new body and his new sword, ordered to guard the gate.

But he looks at the humans and the dangers of the world around them, and he looks at Raphael and feels his despair and he does the only thing he can.

He gives away his sword.

And as Raphael is recalled to Heaven and his body begins to fade, Aziraphale can feel his relief.

So Aziraphale stands at the Eastern Gate in his new body and without his new sword, and watches the clouds form on the horizon and feels very alone.

And somewhere in the Garden, a serpent is heading his way.


	2. Somewhere Outside Eden, Some Years Later

“Well, what do you think?” A voice asks, sitting down next to Aziraphale as he watches two brothers playing in the distance.

“About what?” Aziraphale asks, his voice rough from disuse.

Crowley flings his arms wide, and grins.

“About the body. Figured if I’m going to be up here a while, I might as well try to look like them.”

“Oh, right. It’s fine. I hardly see why it matters though. It’s barely more than a costume.”

He pauses.

“And the eyes are a bit of a giveaway.”

Crowley frowns, bright gold eyes holding Aziraphale’s gaze until Aziraphale looks away awkwardly.

“Well I like it.” he says, sounding very pleased with himself.

“Suits me, I think.”

Aziraphale hums noncommittally.

“And besides,” Crowley continues, nudging Aziraphale, “ _you_ get to look like them.”

Aziraphale turns to look at him seriously.

“I don’t look like them.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow with great proficiency.

“What I mean to say is that, well, that this,” he stammers, gesturing at himself, “it’s not what I look like, not really. It’s not what I _am_.”

Crowley raises the other eyebrow.

Aziraphale huffs.

“Oh you know what I mean.”

And oh, Crowley’s laugh is new and it’s wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I feel like I should reiterate here that Aziraphale is not nonbinary in this, he's working on understanding himself and defining his identity without the influence of others. Please be patient with him]


	3. Somewhere in Greece, circa 2000 BC

_Alcohol is one of humanity’s great triumphs_ , thinks Aziraphale, _wine in particular_.

The Greeks have been doing spectacular things with wine. You can’t get things like this in Heaven.

You don’t get moody demons hogging the last bottle in Heaven either.

“You ever think about it?” Crowley’s voice cuts into Aziraphale’s reverie.

“Think about what?”

Crowley jerks his head towards a young woman sitting a few tables away who is staring at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale blinks, trying to focus. He must have drunk more wine than he thought because he can’t get from Point A to Point B.

He stares blankly at Crowley, who huffs impatiently.

“Them. Us. Together.”

He stares moodily into his glass and Aziraphale wonders if maybe they should perhaps consider limiting their alcohol intake in the future.

“Seem to recall some of your lot getting awfully close to them a few years back.”

Ah, Samyaza and Penemue and _the rest._

Aziraphale bristles through the fuzziness of the wine.

“No, I’ve never thought about it.”

Crowley nods, seemingly satisfied with something.

“We’re not like them, Crowley. We don’t need _that._ ”

Crowley stares so intently at him that Aziraphale can’t help but wonder if this was the wrong answer.


End file.
